


we've been migratory animals living under changing weather

by awsten



Category: Waterparks (Band)
Genre: Christmas morning fluff, M/M, Sensory Overload, Synesthesia, literally just fluff, mental illnesses don't take sick days on holidays
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-11
Updated: 2018-03-11
Packaged: 2019-03-29 17:39:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13932012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awsten/pseuds/awsten
Summary: some days are worse than others, a tangible glimmer of hope facing a dark cloud.and sometimes, mornings are not good to awsten.but geoff is there- so it's going to be okay.(mental illnesses do not take sick days on holidays!)





	we've been migratory animals living under changing weather

winters were made of hands clutching coats and thin blankets in the ever changing houston weather, watching your breath in the morning air one day, but feeling the sweat on the small of your back the next day. it was finally being able to dip your toes into slightly colder weather, no longer receiving the strange looks as your wore sweaters at inappropriate times.  
  
for awsten, it was hearing the soft hum of christmas lights as he pulled the straps of his backpack every so much more closer to the center of his chest. panicked texts to geoff from shopping mall fitting rooms as his head felt underwater, drowning in his thoughts. his own senses would throw a party in his body, a party he did not want to experience.  
  
he would pin his hopes on geoff.  
  
geoff, who would slip into the fitting room stall within a half hour and lead him out with noise-canceling headphones stuffed over his purple hair. who would turn off the lights, even if it meant a dark room, just because the noise was deafening to the other. who would remind him that sensory overload is not him being difficult or crashing, it is simply taking in too much at a single time.  
  
there were good days and bad days.  
  
bad days where awsten would lay on the shower floor after he was done because he didn't want to hear water drops hit tile. days where even silverware cutting up breakfast felt like he was a slightly-less-cool julius caesar. those were the days where geoff would turn off all the lights in the house, put both their phones on do not disturb. otto would drop off food later so they didn't have to cook, for they would both be back in the bedroom, geoff's hands clutching at awsten's shaking shoulders.  
  
but there were better days, too.  
  
the days where awsten would slip out of the house for a few hours, and geoff would notice a few more presents under the tree that night. nights where the two boys would crash on the couch instead, the larger blankets wrapped around their legs and arms loosely. days they had the radio on in the kitchen while they (attempted) to bake something, despite knowing it (most likely- at least if geoff was involved, even more so if otto was over) was going to come out practically inedible.  
  
then there were days that were neither, a neutral gray, or a beige. they were days that awsten’s head felt like it was turned ever so slightly on the wrong frequency. he felt outside of his body, like his body was an airport and he was just passing through.

and then there are days that are neither good, bad, or indifferent.  
  
"texas heating sucks."  
  
the words are whispered softly into his neck, fingertips pulling at the loose fabric around his stomach. it feels like the whole world's on fire, but the fire inside awsten has ceased to spark. warm hands press against the bare skin of his chest as they work their way under his shirt, like a tiny match that wanted to start something more.  
  
"says the boy who is constantly like a thousand degrees."  
  
"i'd be dead."  
  
"then this would be very creepy and slightly concerning."  
  
"just slightly?"  
  
"shut up."  
  
geoff still had a trace of smoke on him, wrapped around his fingers and on his collarbones. it still lingered on awsten as well, but not as prominently. on awsten, it was like the remainders of a person, but for geoff, it was like a whole other person clutching to him.  
  
the night before still clung to them, the memories of crowding around the fire pit in the cold, watching their breath mix with the smoke, otto trying (and failing) to make s'mores for everyone. it was a night of taking chances and allowing the voice in the back of your head to make some rather questionable decisions, but a night to remember nonetheless.  
  
"how'd otto get home?"  
  
"jawn.”

today was a gold or silver day, it was skin upon skin in the blue hour, waiting for the sun to come wrap its fingers over the horizon. holding onto the morning was the most common thing, not wanting to have to leave the cool comforts of your bed.

and there wasn’t anything necessarily wrong with that, it’s just awsten is supposed to do things and he doesn’t want to be lazy staying in bed and otto isn’t gonna do anything today otherwise and geoff is going to be concer-

“awsten?”

“yeah?”

“stop overthinking, you’re literally hyperventilating.”

 “i am not hyperventilating.”

“you’re having considerable trouble breathing.”

awsten tilts his head slightly, a barely noticeable nod as his fingers rest against his sternum, drumming carefully. his eyes are still closed, feeling worried fingertips wrap around his upper arm as oceans began to stir inside his head. there was only a few sounds he picked up on, the sound of skin against sheets, the hum of the heater trying to play catch-up, a soft clicking of the clock on geoff’s bedside table, the fan on the ceiling.

“you’re okay.”

_i’m okay. i’m okay and this is going to pass._

“but- our thing, people are supposed to be here in four hours and it’s six in the fucking morning and i’m already having sensory overload and i just-”

“it’s our friends, awsten. they know your limits, it’s okay. otto’s gonna be here, and travis, and jawn, and m-”

“it’s just another day, i’m going to be fine.” awsten says that more for his own benefit, like he’s trying to convince himself that more than anyone else, so geoff stays quiet for a moment.

“merry christmas, awsten.”

“merry christmas, geoff.”

and in the end?

everything was okay.

**Author's Note:**

> this is really short but i wrote most of this post-sensory overload about a week ago and most of the color descriptions match how mine are (there's a slight difference, but only if you squint). the exact type of synesthesia i am using that most aligns to what i have doesn't have an exact name, but is related to grapheme-color synesthesia, but is associating places, people, things, music, words, emotions, etc., with colors.
> 
> come say hey to me on twitter (@prettyoddyears) if you want to!


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